After settling your affairs in the city, you visit House Orien's offices in the city. After taking some gold for fees, an Orien representative with the Mark of Passage opens a portal for the few seconds it takes for you to reach the Orien guildhouse in Novaric.

A few inquiries quickly find a ship headed up the peninsula to Barrinsgate.

During their time in the provincial capital, while waiting of the boat to depart, Silas spends his times buying ale and listening. The ale wasn't all that good, but hopefully the information would prove useful.

OOC:

Streetwise to get a sense of the situation now that we are closer, esp. if anything relates to our destination or host. Streetwise: 15 (that could've gone better)

Althaea never was altogether too fond of the high seas. It was not the feeling of seclusion; in fact, she found it somewhat comforting. It was not the long periods of waiting; the ability to sit around and relax for a day or two was welcome enough to a habitual adventurer. It was the seasickness which annoyed her. Much to her chagrin, she'd never developed the stomach for sailing. It was nothing like her days living among the magically created forests of her peoples, a slow fey wind making the branches sway gently, rhythmically. No, these movements were erratic, forceful, unfamiliar. It always took her a couple awkward days to adjust to the rocking of a ship.

As with most of the group's past seafaring expeditions, Althaea's first day at sea she spends in her quarters looking queasy. Later in the day, after she'd found her footing, Althaea finds Soril and pulls him aside.

The eladrin leads off with tone of humor and slight nausea. "Soril, how are you feeling? Hopefully slightly better than I?" she chuckles to herself, "Anyways, you said there was something of a problem back in Syraxa a few days back. Did you wish to talk it out?"

Teclis actually seems to enjoy the voyage. Being moved by the wind on rolling waves almost reminds him on flying. His very strong vitality that battles nearly any kind of sickness and the knowledge that if truly needed he can escape the ship into the air are maybe part of it.

But by now he knows Althea and Vanri well enough to not looking to cheerful in their company.

The trip from Novaric to Barrinsgate is pretty much along the coast, and then a very short turn up a river; you teleported over the large expanse of water

One sailor Silas talks to knows a little of Barrinsgate. "In grand-pappy's day, it wasn't much more than an overgrown bandit camp. Though it's grown and gotten civilized since, even before you Imperials moved in. Still, the rougher parts of town are run more by gangs than then authorities." He says.

The motion of the sea puts Soril in a lighter mood. Something about the constant, little motions that remind some ancestral memory of flying that's locked within him. He nods towards Althaea and smiles a bit at her perpetual sea sickness. "Feeling better, I see." He frowns some at her question, but nods his head and then sighs.

"It's my brothers Uryax and Ilyen, again. They're not content to hold the Blade's seats on the Wyrm's Council; they want the Blades to take over the Council completely, with them in charge, of course." He says and then chuckles. "I suppose I should be grateful that they don't change their tactics. The rest of the Council will oppose them, like last time, and they'll be chastised and nothing will come of it."

He looks away from her, out across the waters. "It won't last forever though. Sooner or later they'll quit trying to take power with words and votes and decide to use their steel. I can't believe they'd be that stupid to try it...but I wouldn't put it past them, and there are some that agree with them in the Blades."

"I don't mean to paint such a grim picture. There are more that disagree with them, and other Tensen's like me in the Blades that would cut their support from them. Unfortunately we can't remove them, as they're Shotu." He pauses and smiles. "A rank above me."

He stretches and stands up, taloned hands resting on the rails. "I've been delaying writing a particular letter, but I don't think I can put it off much longer. Well...it should be able to last long enough for us to deal with whatever this noble wants."

Althaea listens intently to the narrative, occasional offering a nod. When Soril finishes speaking, she remains silent for period, her expression betraying nothing more than an air of contemplation. Finally, she speaks a single syllable.

"Hmm."

The noble continues mulling the situation over in her head. This wasn't a situation entirely without precedent, but she couldn't recall from her studies how those similar disputes had been settled in past cases. That is, excluding assassinations and rebellions. "It's quite the situation you have on your shoulders. I'd like to help, but I don't know how much I could do," The eladrin continues her thoughts out loud, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think the Syraxan nobility would like to have its affairs meddled in by the nobility of the fey kingdoms. For that matter, I doubt the rest of House Ripace will wish to become involved in settling the disputes of outsiders."

She glances towards the darkening sky, as if hoping for some divine insight. Of course, none came. She'd stopped believing in miracles about 18 years prior. There was no reason to begin now.

"Whatever happens, I'm willing to help you resolve this should it come to that, after this job in Barrinsgate. You've saved my life before, I'm sure it's the least I can do. I think the rest of our compatriots would agree," she smiles at him. When they'd first met, Althaea had taken an immediate liking to the Dragonborn's martial spirit and diligence; it was something that she could immediately relate to, having spent years studying and practicing the art of battle. After traveling together, that sense of camaraderie had only strengthened, and the noble was more than willing to try to help him however possible.

Suddenly, the eladrin appears to remember that she is, in fact, on a ship, and the feeling of nausea returns. Immediately to distract herself, she asks, "If you don't mind my questioning, what will you be writing in your letter?"

Tatterdemalion spends the first few hours of the journey in the hold...then flutters irritably out, complaining that it's too full of stuff. She buzzes up the mast to the crow's nest, but doesn't last long before deciding that the movement of the ship in the water is too exaggerated there, and it's too sunny besides. The deck proves to be perilous, with men constantly stomping hither and yon, not always watching where they're stepping.

Finally she settles on the poop deck, not far from the wheel. It's relatively devoid of traffic save for whoever's steering the boat...who doesn't move around much. It's still sunny...but it's better that than stay cooped up below.

After a little while she perches atop the wheel itself, in the shadow of the mainsail, and seems to find a kindred spirit in the sailor manning it; he likes to complain about things too. Pretty soon they're in a competition of sorts, each struggling to sound the most blase' and complain about the most mundane and innocuous of things.

He chuckles. "No, neither the Blades nor the Wyrm Council would look kindly upon outside Houses interfering. However, a Blade may always have his trusted allies with him." He says, nodding to her and to the others on deck. He pauses as he catches sight of the pixie, perched on the wheel and chattering with the other sailor. He smiles and shakes his head, then turns back to Althaea.

"The letter is a formality...a finality, I suppose, as well. Normally, challenges are delivered in person." He smiles, showing nearly all of his sharp teeth. "You know the protocol for those." He taps his talons along the rail. "But as a Tensen, officially on temporary duty as Ambassador for Foreign Relations, I'm legally able to write and seal my challenge, sending it by post. After that, there's a time limit and some other choices that have to be made, but they are procedure. I've held off for as long as I thought wise, but my brothers may be forcing my hand."

"We'll know soon enough. I'm waiting word from the other Shotu at the Blades...and then we'll see what needs to be done."

Spoiler:

The standard dragonborn challenge is to roar (breath weapon) at them and then leap. (Anyone get the reference?)

Also, Ambassader for Foreign Relations isn't as fancy as it sounds. Any Blade that wants to leave Syraxa and go exploring is technically an Ambassador, but the word carries little meaning for the dragonborn, aside from each choosing how they want to introduce their own culture to the new places they meet (sword, fire breath, magic, etc...)